Flash Friday Fiction: Be Careful What You Wish For…

“New crowns for old ones!” –Benjamin Disraeli presents Queen Victoria the crown of India. Punch, 1876, by cartoonist John Tenniel.
“New crowns for old ones!” –Benjamin Disraeli presents Queen Victoria the crown of India. Punch, 1876, by cartoonist John Tenniel.

Be Careful What You Wish For – 160 words

“I want a refund,” the woman said, thrusting the small crown toward the oddly robed gentleman.

His gold-filled grin didn’t quite reach his eyes. “All sales are final. It was stated in the contract.”

“But this one doesn’t work!”

“Results do vary.”

Her eyes flashed. “You can’t sell a faulty product! I shall expose you for the charlatan you are!”

“Madam, I’m no charlatan. I’m a genie. We’ve been through this.”

“Genie, soothsayer, prestidigitator – whatever you call yourself, you are a fraud.”

“Did you not wish yourself rid of your husband?”

Her eyes rounded. “That was an accident!”

“If you say so. And did you not want more respect?”

“That’s my point. When I wore this all anybody did was laugh.”

The man sighed. “Try this latest model? It’s bigger, rounder – has more flair.”

She eyed it dubiously. “It’s Indian.”

“Yes, and full of power.”

“Sure, and I’m Queen of England!”

“Your wish is my command, madam.”

————————————————————————————-

Ever write something, think it’s OK, then upon revisiting it later you realize there are certain phrasings or vocabulary you’d change (especially when you discover you’ve repeated something over and over)? Yeah? Me, too.

Oh well – this is the version that’s live on Flash Friday, so it’s not changing now. Let me know what you think – and please head over and read (and comment on!) the other fine entries this week!

 

Sugarless Summer Week 2.5: A Funny Thing Happened On The Way to Sugar-Free…

PringlesSo, 17 days ago I embarked on this adventure of a “sugarless” summer. Or, more aptly, a dessert-free summer, in that my initial promise was to avoid anything obviously sugary. I added on to that anything with sugar as one of the first two ingredients (which meant my beloved French dressing was out). Sugar substitutes were/are also out – it didn’t make much sense to me to replace sugar with chemicals, especially when said chemicals are being implicated all the time as instigators of sugar cravings and weight gain.

I didn’t, however, take out white flour. I still haven’t – that just feels like too much as I try to adjust to this new way of thinking. But…if I’m going to actually get anywhere on this quest for healthier, more sane eating, I may have to. Because as I’ve eased off of a sugar addiction, I’ve fallen into a salt one. Salty chips. Specifically, Pringles. Simple carbs that will turn right to sugar in my bloodstream, with the added bonus of salt to spike my thirst and make me crave more. Hooray! This is progress?!?

Now in all honesty, I hadn’t been too concerned about this carb habit. After all, I’m getting off SUGAR, people (90% of it, at least). Even my mom told me not to worry about the other stuff, about eating crackers or what have you, because a) I just needed to get through the first part of No Sweets and b) I can only change one thing at a time. She’s much more patient than I am, my mom. Which might explain why she’s much more successful, too. Maybe she has more self-control, or more impulse control. I don’t know.

What I do know is, two and a half weeks into this grand experiment, I don’t crave sugary things. At all. I walk past the bakery in the grocery store and am like, “whatevs.” I watch my family eating ice cream and marvel dispassionately at how I don’t want any. Of course I don’t want any – why would I need that when I can have the salty deliciousness of Pringles potato chips?!?

I knew I was in trouble when I realized at the end of yesterday that my food for the day had consisted of: 2 cans of Pringles (yes, entire cans), 4 white flour biscuits, and 2 bowls of tortilla chips. Maybe a banana. Is it excruciatingly embarrassing to admit that? Of course. But it was also, uh, a good reminder that, uh, the simple carbs are as addicting for me as the obviously sugary ones.

Dang it.

So today I white-knuckled it and did not buy any Pringles while at the store, even though I desperately wanted to. It wasn’t a clean day – I ate a sandwich at Subway, my first fast food in over a month (which probably had more sugar in it than I want to know), and also ate white flour tortillas at dinner. But at least I ate a real lunch and a real dinner. At least I ate some carrots and a banana and some strawberries (which are unbelievably succulently sweet, by the way).

The All-Or-Nothing Super Strict Headmistress in me wants to proclaim, “NO SIMPLE CARBS FOR YOU!” But past experience tells me that will lead to failure. And that wasn’t even the focus of the original experiment. I didn’t even care about the inhalation of the chips until the scale told me it was heading back up because of this new method of feeding my seemingly Always Starving Binge Monster. I don’t have the answers yet, and I’m not willing to impose Martial Carb Law on myself. I’m just going to try a little. I’m going to try to eat those carbs with protein. I’m going to try not to bring the stuff into the house.

But hey, can y’all please remind me that most of all I’ve got to be nicer to myself? Sure, my hope was the pounds would fall away and I would suddenly be lithe and energetic and free. Whatever. It’s a lifelong battle and this is just one of the many skirmishes in a never-ending war.

So that’s the update: 17 days in, I’m still sugar-free. And it doesn’t feel hard anymore. As long as I have those chips to fall back on. I’m still waiting for God’s lightning bolt that will zap me on the head and turn all my thoughts to that of vegetables. Waiting. Waiting…

No? Fine. Just for today, I didn’t eat any Pringles chips. Maybe I will tomorrow. Regardless, the sugar-free experiment goes on. Because all-in-all this is about much more than my weight, which my husband reminded me when he said I have seemed more even-keeled emotionally than I was in my sugar days. My Sugar Daze.

Links I Love: Week of June 17th

you-are-the-bees-knees1. The No-Stress Way to Create Your Story’s Logline – Logline? What the heck is a logline? I was clueless until a few months ago, when I learned that authors are expected to condense the essence of their book – their 50K, 70K, 90K opus of love – down to a single sentence in order to be able to pitch it to agents, editors, readers – anybody, really. Say WHAT? (My current logline draft reads: “A bookstore owner must choose between fantasy and reality after discovering the men she’s dating are fictional characters she’d created years ago.” Perhaps I need to read the article again?)

2. The 400 Year Old Color Chart – Good to know I’m not the only one obsessed with colors. And shades of colors. My husband just rolls his eyes when I start talking to him about reds under-laced with blue versus yellow. He thinks there’s just red. I’ll have to show him this.

3. The Numbering of Houses in Regency England – Thank goodness pizza delivery wasn’t an option. It would have been much harder to find the correct address for that Regency gaming hell (although I supposed its reputation probably preceded it).

4. Classifying Your Book: How to Research & Target Literary Agents – I post this one for your benefit, but also for mine. I’m still trying to figure out if my book works best for marketing if it’s seen as a paranormal romance, or as a chick lit book with elements of magic. Guess I have some reading to do!

5. Six Things Writers Can Learn From Elvis – Thankya Thankya Verra Much! People who know me in real life know my husband and I have 50s Elvis posters plastered across our basement wall in homage to how we met. Now it turns out The King can help writers, too?? Mercy!

6. 33 British Slang Words You’ll Want to Start Using Regularly Because They’re Awesome – Brilliant! I’m chuffed to know I’ll soon be passing as a native Brit. Or an American obsessed with Britain, at least. Bob’s your uncle!

7. How To Tell If You Are in a Jane Austen Novel – Just in case, like me, you occasionally confuse fiction with reality, this handy list will help you discern if, perhaps, this time, for realz, you are stuck in a Jane Austen novel. Although I have to say, I once took a walk with a cad, but I’m pretty sure that was in 1993.

 

Flash Friday Fiction: Strawberry Fields Forever

“Rose Biodo, Philadelphia, 10 years old. Working 3 summers, minds baby and carries berries, two pecks at a time.” Photo by Lewis Hine, National Archives public domain.
“Rose Biodo, Philadelphia, 10 years old. Working 3 summers, minds baby and carries berries, two pecks at a time.” Photo by Lewis Hine, National Archives public domain.

Strawberry Fields Forever – 159 words

“Better than Benjamin Button!” the ad said. Anything had sounded better than this: lying in bed day after day, forgotten by family, waiting to die. All my friends were dead, anyway.

“Mutter these magic words while eating strawberries,” the instructions read, “and you’ll be back in the prime of life!” They never mentioned you actually travelled back in time.

I’d hated strawberries ever since my youth. I’d eaten them anyway. Guess I ate too many, because instead of being back with Ada and Herb, dancing the night away in that speakeasy, I’m here. In the strawberry fields.

I never wanted to be here again.

The only good thing is, I know what’s coming. I know better times are coming. And I’m going to march in 1920. I’m going to build in 1940. I’m going to root those young women on in 1970. I’m going to celebrate every second of my age.

And I’m never eating a damn strawberry again.

————————————————————————————————-

This week’s challenge? A 150 word story (+/- 10 words) springing forth from the photo prompt and containing some thing about friendship. What do you think? Do you like my take?

Want to read the other marvelously inventive entries? Head on over to Flash Friday Fiction and check them out – or enter your own!

Throwback Thursday: Fall (a poem from 1990?)

My beloved 1st cat, Einstein.
My beloved 1st cat, Einstein.

I pause and straighten my tired back.
The leaves rustle as the rake falls and I make my way
Through the red and orange stacks to my cat, Einstein,
Who rolls in the late sun on the pavement with such abandonment.
I envy him.
He breathes in the air, then pounces on a pile
Of imaginary mice.
I watch him, seeing life in this temporary death.
Icicle fingers of the wind caress my cheeks, and I pull my jacket closer.
Scooping up my cat, who smells of fresh dirt, I hold him close
And walk inside to the warmth of my family.
I am home.